


The Tried Intent

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Oral, Oral Sex, Sex, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was going to push him until he broke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tried Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Forget not yet the tried intent" by Sir Thomas Wyatt. This was meant to be finished for Porn Battle IX, using the prompts _comfort_ and _silence_. All gaffes are mine.

  
Gillian found Cal in the study of his office, slumped in his chair and rubbing his brow in front of the wall-sized screen. From the doorway she stood, a package in her hands, and watched him rewind and forward the image on the wall, freeze at every increment, frown at every frame. On the screen, larger than life, a brunette woman sat and answered interview questions with ease.

She'd been a nurse whom they'd been hired to vouch for during pre-employment screening. Gillian had asked the questions; Cal had slouched in his seat behind her and observed. And the nurse--whom they'd cleared--had gone on to abduct a newborn from the maternity unit, less than a week after she started work at the hospital.

The news coverage had left them all reeling in its wake: an Amber alert had been issued not ten minutes after she'd absconded with the infant; they were found a couple of hours later, about a half hour out of DC, in a sub-compact in a detached garage full of exhaust fumes. In the hushed conference room, Cal and Gillian had stared at each other for a horrified minute. Then Cal stalked out without a word, leaving a bewildered Gillian alone to deal with their devastated staff.

Steeling herself, she had reassured them that it hadn't been their fault. She checked Cal's office to confirm he'd holed himself in his study, then locked herself in the ladies' room and gave herself ten minutes alone. In the hours since, she'd made phone calls, arranged to obtain copies of the hospital security tapes from the FBI, began to prepare statements for the federal and district attorneys. Tried not to crack from the strain.

Gillian glanced at her watch. It was well past nine now, everyone else had long gone home, and it looked like Cal hadn't moved at all since she'd peeked in on him last. He leaned on one hand as he flipped the remote back and forth with the other. To anyone else he was a study in casual indifference. She knew it was anything but.

"The FBI sent over the security tapes." She held up the package.

Cal nodded, but didn't turn to look. "Yeah, we'll start those in a bit."

"How long have you been studying that footage?"

Cal ignored her question, addressing the screen instead. "I had to have missed something, but what?" he said, gesturing at measurement numbers superimposed on the woman's eyes and mouth. "I've watched every bloody frame. I can't see any signs of deception leakage here. No--no increased manipulators or decreased illustrators, no micro-expressions or leaked fragments, nothing."

The tableau was all the more eerie with the sound turned off. "Her voice stress patterns were normal too," Gillian said, striding over to stand beside him. "Her answers demonstrated appropriate word choice, there were no negative speech indicators--"

He looked up at her, his features on the surface a textbook example of frustration; she could feel the self-recrimination simmer beneath. Her voice softened as she added, "Cal, we both know, sometimes there is no sign."

"There always is, for something like this." He turned back to the screen, hitting the rewind button on the remote. "Intent is always leaked somewhere."

"Or it might simply have happened on the spur of the moment."

"No, it was there. It has to be. I just have to find it." He scrubbed his face wearily and leaned forward, advancing frame-by-frame again.

Gillian closed her eyes and tried to center herself. They were used to these emotionally fraught cases, but the aftermath of this one had pushed every single button for them both. Their combined guilt was going to crush the air out of the room and suffocate them both under its weight at this rate. Unless they escaped somehow. Even if only for a little while.

"Go home, Cal," she said, and patted his shoulder. "Let's just go home and get some rest. We can look at the video with fresh eyes tomorrow."

He didn't look at her, just continued clicking the video ahead. "The inquest--"

"Isn't until Thursday."

He stopped there, and lolled his head to look up at her with tired eyes. "Still won't be able to sleep tonight."

She nodded, and suppressed a frustrated sigh. Of course not. He'd brood instead. And Cal brooding almost always led to Cal crawling into a bottle.

To be followed by the inevitable phone call a few hours later, begging for a ride home from whichever seedy dive he'd crashed at that evening. The late night run to collect him, stumbling and slurred; pouring him into her car then into her guest room bed, and finally the hangover in the morning. Rinse and repeat, too many times to count.

Over the years it had become a twisted, yet comforting routine. Well, for him, anyway. Since he almost always got to act out his hurt while she ended up repressing hers.

This stinks, she thought, bristling with sudden resentment. The last thing she wanted tonight was to spend it waiting, alone with her thoughts and a pint of Ben and Jerry's, until said phone call. _Not this time._ If only she could turn to him for some unthinking comfort after a case like this--

Their line had always been about privacy. Only that. Anything else was fair game. She squeezed his arm. "I was thinking, let's go home and do something more life-affirming than drink at a bar until we pass out," Gillian said.

He peered at her for a long minute, then switched the video off and dropped the remote on the cushion. "You're right," he said, "life-affirming. I like that." He clapped the armrests, heaved himself out of the chair and headed towards the door of the study.

"Where are you going?"

He looked at her. "Your advice is brilliant. I'm going to follow it." He brushed her arm as he strode past.

She thought quickly, and her fists clenched in reflex. "You're going to look for a one-night stand." Damn it.

At the door, Cal turned and spread his hands with a shrug. "I can't go to Zoe can I, now she's married Roger. So, yeah." He pivoted to go. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

God, he was hopelessly self-absorbed at times. Gillian squashed her disappointment and took a deep breath, plunged in directly.

"Why can't you come to me?"

Cal froze at that, hands shoved into his pockets, and he ducked his head. "No, that wouldn't be right," he replied after a brief pause, "not with you."

"Why not?"

He half-turned towards her. There was no question he wanted to take her up on it. Gillian blinked at the raw need on his face, the tension in his posture, just barely restrained.

It was clear he wasn't going to let himself, either. "You're better than that, love," Cal said, and he started walking away again.

She felt herself snap, no, no I'm not, and she stepped forward. "How can I be 'better than that' if I suggest it in the first place?"

Cal stopped short, his fists clenched. "Foster, don't do this."

Gillian ignored the faintly pleading tone and strode towards him, her heels sounding dull thuds in the study carpet. He was holding back from her? Fine. She was going to push him until he broke. In five steps she stood eye-to-eye, close enough to catch the raggedness of his breathing.

"Do you really think I can just go home by myself tonight and forget what happened?" Gillian pointed at herself, forced her voice to remain steady. "Have you ever thought that maybe I want--maybe I _need_\--someone's arms around me too, at a time like this?"

Cal raised a hand and cupped her shoulder, his eyes storm-dark and sober in his pale face. She read the strain, the acknowledgment and the contrition in his haggard features.

"Oh believe me, darling, you don't know how much I want to right now." Cal brushed his fingers along her jaw, the lightest feather touch, then dropped his hand. "But it's not a good idea. I won't use you like that."

She held his gaze and raised her chin, all the more determined. "You wouldn't be using me, Cal," she said. "It's okay to need me like that. It's okay."

He shook his head. "It's not that easy." He glanced down and away with a self-deprecating snort.

_Shame._ He was pushing her away because of shame. She seized his wrist. "Yes, yes it is. You won't sully me if you do."

But he pinned her with his gaze, his face set hard. "Don't push it, Foster. _Don't._"

She recoiled at the vehemence, then anger flared, and she flung his hand away. "Fine. Fine! Go find some bimbo to get your rocks off with. I don't care."

His eyes narrowed, and he turned around. And as he did she added, "And Cal? Don't bother calling me for a ride home tonight. You're on your own."

She turned away from him, shaking. Stupid, it was so stupid coming on to him like this. Stupid to let temporary vulnerability overrule her good sense. Stupid to think she could actually venture beyond their carefully-defined boundaries and routines without--

The next thing she knew, he yanked her backwards by the wrist, whirled her around and crashed his mouth against hers with what felt like years' worth of suppressed longing.

Shocked, Gillian stood frozen in place, her eyes wide. After a suspended minute he pulled back, a lock of hair falling over his face. "Is this what you wanted?"

Oh, _finally_. She nodded. "Yes," she said, and sighed with relief when his mouth crushed hers again.

The cloud of heat rose, spread outwards from her center as his mouth dragged expertly past her lips to press on the tender skin just below her jaw. She nipped at his ear and his throat, shrugged his jacket off, dug her fingernails into the cotton of his shirt. He rucked her blouse out from her skirt, skated his hands beneath to stroke her back, her sides, to fondle her breasts through her bra; the warm, broad pressure tingled on her skin.

He pulled her flush against him and worked one leg in between, his hardness pressing into her hip. His stroking turned to not-so-gentle squeezing, as if to reassure himself of her solidity. "God, Foster," he breathed into her neck, "you feel bloody fantastic." She moaned and clutched him in turn, roaming over his arms, his back, as far as she could reach.

Cal slid the study door shut behind them and guided her backwards to sit her down on the sofa by the stairs. He crouched in front of her, his burning gaze never leaving her face as he ghosted his hands along the hemline of her skirt. Then he slid his hands up beneath, thumbing her through thin layers of nylon and silk, and she drew a sharp breath.

"I've dreamed of this a long time," he said, "but I never thought I'd get the chance."

His voice, his touch, reverberated all the way to her core, and she shivered. "You've got it now," she replied shakily, "so you better make the best of it."

"Believe me, I will."

Gillian nodded and lifted her hips so he could hike up her skirt and peel off her hose and panties. She'd thought she knew everything about him. Now she wondered just how much desire he'd withheld from her all this time--or maybe, how much she'd simply chosen to ignore. He parted her legs, knelt between and brushed his fingertips up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs until she trembled. He gazed at her, licked his lips then bent his head--almost reverent, she mused in a haze.

Just moments later she gasped at the first electric swipe of his tongue on her clit.

Cal gently spread her slick folds open and lapped at the wetness between. She strangled a whimper, her fingers curling with each flick. She squirmed and arched back against the cushions when he applied the gentlest of suction. God, if she'd known he was this good at it she might've seduced him years ago... he cupped her buttocks and she couldn't help but seize his head to pull him in as tight as she could, craving more of his mouth greedily working at her up and down, _yespleasemore_ of those soft, wet sounds. Soon she began to spiral inwards, tighter and tighter, until he looked up at her with his pupils utterly blown, slid a finger inside her and hummed on her clit. She flew over the edge, bucking against his mouth and crying out freely.

When her spasms subsided he rose, his lips glistening, and she tasted herself when he leaned in and kissed her. He drew back then, avoiding her gaze as he stood and pivoted away.

No, she thought, we're not done yet. We've barely started. She reached out, grabbed his hand to stay him.

"Hey. It works both ways."

He turned back with a smirk. "Think you can take it?"

"Watch me."

She balanced herself at the edge of the cushion, reached out and unfastened his belt buckle, pushed his pants and underwear down to his feet. His erection jutted out, just about level with her face; a small drop of pre-come had already beaded at the tip. She spread it across with her thumb, then drew his cock into her mouth to lick it off. She heard Cal's soft hisses of pleasure as she fondled him, slid her lips up and down his shaft until she felt him struggling not to pump into her mouth.

At that point he pulled out, and sat on the couch beside her. Everything felt hushed now, waiting. He reclined against the cushions, dragged her onto his lap. She straddled him for a minute, just brushing him while they kissed. Then he leaned back, steadied her hips and caught her gaze with a silent question.

_Do you want this?_

She nodded, and he lowered her down gently until he was buried thick and tight to the root. Rocking back and forth, she unbuttoned his shirt, pressed her palms on his bare chest, her fingertips over the tattoos on his shoulder. His own fingers made quick work of unfastening her blouse and bra; then he pulled her close, skin to skin in a fierce embrace, and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

In that gesture she felt something give, and it seemed like she could finally speak to him, not with words, but with touches, kisses, thrusts: things like _I can't keep going on like before_ and _I need you_ and _please don't hold back anymore_. All her pent-up litanies--her fear and frustration, desire and hope--she uttered with growing urgency, until she shuddered in tortured bliss and gasped against his neck. Just moments later she felt Cal stiffen too, and come with a muffled groan.

They rested against each other as the rush of climax slowly ebbed. Gillian pressed her lips to his temple, tasted salt as she felt his blood slow. Cal's panting breaths puffed cool against her skin. She'd needed to lose herself tonight, she thought, inhaling his scent of clean sweat and musk.

After a few minutes she pulled off, her legs a little wobbly. She gathered and straightened her clothes and headed to the washroom to freshen up, leaving Cal to his own devices. In the mirror she surveyed her flushed face, her disheveled hair. After so long they needed to reach this point of understanding between them.

When she returned he was dressed and back in his chair, sprawled and staring pensively at the screen again. Gillian bit back a defeated sigh. Cal diving back into work was better than Cal getting smashed at a pub, but acting like they just didn't have sex only ten minutes earlier, a few feet away? He had been right. It hadn't been a good idea at all. She shouldn't have pushed him. She never should have tried.

"Good night, Cal," she said heavily.

He startled and blinked at her. He then pulled her hand to his lips, held it against his scraggly cheek for a long moment.

"I'd rather you stay, love," he murmured into her palm. "A second pair of eyes for the security vids." He looked up at her then; from the unguarded look on his face, something had permanently shifted within him, too.

She nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat. "Okay."

He let go, and wordlessly she pulled a second chair over while he inserted the surveillance disks and started the playback. She sat beside him; he reached over, grabbed her hand and squeezed. She returned it, and so they settled in for a long night.


End file.
